A thundering crash echoed through the empty kitchen when a towering stack of brand-new, stainless-steel sauce pans toppled over.

"Damn it," Tracy mumbled, just in time to step out of harm’s way.

The stack of cookware, worth thousands of dollars, hit the red tile floor so hard that pans flew in every direction.

By the time the last pan stopped clattering and dancing, Tracy could feel a rising tide of frustration in the pit of her stomach. There wasn’t much time left before the restaurant – her restaurant – was set to open, and it felt like absolutely nothing had been done. The kitchen needed to be set up, the employees still needed to be finalized, the design crew still had to finish work on the dining room. And what made Tracy more nervous than anything was her appointment with her new head chef: Gordon Baxter.

An esteemed chef with dozens of prestigious awards under his apron, Gordon had only agreed to work for Tracy for a salary that ate up much of the restaurant’s start-up budget. If she couldn’t get a constant stream of people coming in the door, there was no way she could afford to keep him on the payroll.

Of course, Tracy knew that her lover, self-made billionaire Paul Hayes, wouldn’t even bat an eye at forking over hundreds of thousands of dollars to keep her afloat. He had done exactly that, paying off all her bills just for a chance at being with her. But, as their relationship started to grow, she found herself less and less interested in what his money could do for her. Having all of those bills off her back was the most liberating thing she’d ever experienced. In the back of her head, however, there was always a nagging feeling of guilt. She ran her fingers through her long, loose hair and leaned back against the shining stainless freezer door., then she let herself slide to the floor.

"What did I even do to deserve all this?"

After kicking away a stray pan – though most of them were stray at that moment – Tracy closed her eyes and clenched her hair in her hands. Pulling it tight helped to quell the thundering migraine that had been lingering behind her right eyebrow for days.

Worse yet, her dream-world visions hadn’t happened in almost a month.

She let go of her hair and began to massage her temples with her thumbs. There was so much stress in her life, so much to deal with all at once. Surely that had to be the cause, because the alternative made Tracy literally feel ill. To have that kind of power, to be able to see people's dreams, and then have it ripped away was the cruelest sort of joke.

On the other hand, it was one less responsibility she had to put up with.

From the back, a loud clanking of a different sort made Tracy open her eyes and look up. Someone was knocking.

The knocking repeated.

"Hello?"

It was Mr. Hayes, his voice heavily muffled by the heavy back door. Tracy forced herself upright.

"I’m coming! One second."

She dragged her feet around the corner and threw all of her weight against the door, which popped open with yet another clatter. Waiting on the other side with a bottle of wine, and a smile from ear to ear, Mr. Hayes held his arms out for a hug.

Outside, the clear sky had turned into a silky shade of deep navy blue. It had been almost noon when Tracy arrived, so the darkness that had fallen caught her a little off guard.

"Hey there." He tried to meet her distant gaze. "How’s it going?"

Tracy blinked slowly and looked to her right, where the remnants of the saucepan avalanche were still plainly visible.

"It’s going."

Mr. Hayes let his arms drop and walked in. He peered around the corner for a moment, then turned back to her with a look of concern painted across his face.

"Are you okay? Did you get hurt?"

"No, no." She shook her head and touched his arm. "The stack just fell over. I’m fine. It’s just that this headache is killing me."

After setting the bottle of wine down on an empty storage rack that was destined for cases of fresh vegetables, Mr. Hayes wrapped his arm around Tracy’s sunken shoulders.

"Still? Hasn’t it been a few days now? I thought you were going to go see the doctor."

"Yeah. I mean, I think so."

He tightened his grip and led her through the kitchen.

"You know, I can have someone come in and do all of this for you without all the stress."

They pushed through the swinging doors and into the dining room. Mr. Hayes carefully guided her to a seat.

"No," she said with a firm tone, and let herself sink into one of the few dining room chairs still on the floor. The rest had been flipped and placed on the table-tops to make sweeping and mopping easier. "You know that I don’t want the help. I want to do this myself. I need to do it myself."

Mr. Hayes held both hands up like he was trying to prove that he wasn’t armed. "Okay, okay," he said softly. "I take it that you won’t be wanting any wine, either?"

Tracy looked up to him and scrunched her eyebrows together to get a good look at him. The fog of pain had spread into her vision, making the periphery look like cloudy pools of water. Even when she spoke up again, her words were slow and careful.

"I don’t need any wine. Between this and not getting enough sleep, I already feel drunk."

"I see," he replied plainly, moving around her until he was standing behind her chair.

With both of his large hands, Mr. Hayes reached down and began to massage the throbbing cluster of muscles between Tracy’s neck and shoulder. With his thumbs, he made wide, sweeping movements over her shoulder blades.

Tracy groaned with approval, so he continued.

"When is your appointment with Gordon?"

"Tomorrow morning," she sighed.

"Are you nervous?"

She closed her eyes and let her head sink forward with a quiet, "Mmhmm."

By then, the hard rubbing had turned her into putty in his hands. With every powerful sweep that he made, Tracy’s head would bob up and down. As the massaging continued, she could feel some of the tension starting to melt away, though an overwhelming urge to sleep quickly took its place.

Even though the visions had stopped, her dreams, which were filled to the brim with fantastic nonsense and awful monsters that were seldom seen, made every night both fitful and restless.

After several minutes, Mr. Hayes leaned over and said softly into her ear, "I’m going to go get you some water."

Fortunately, the former owner of the building had left a few things behind as part of the deal, including a brand-new ice machine near the walk-in cooler. Mr. Hayes grabbed a couple of plastic cups and filled both with ice, adding water to just one.

Back in the dining room, Tracy hadn’t moved, still partially slumped over in her seat. Mr. Hayes held both cups carefully with one arm and used his free hand to snap off the light switches. Like a candle being blown out, the room dropped into an impressive darkness. The only light was from the kitchen, and the little slivers of window where the paper covering it didn’t quite reach. It wasn’t much, though, and cast little slashes of light all over.

"Here," he said, handing Tracy the water cup."Thanks."

"Sure."

He set the other cup on the table and pulled out a couple of disc-shaped ice cubes.

"Lean your head back."

A hint of a demanding tone crept into his voice.

Tracy raised an eyebrow, but nothing else. "Why?"

Mr. Hayes wrapped his free hand around her chin and guided her face upwards.

"Because I’m trying to help."

Tracy wanted to fight. She knew that, in a way, she needed to fight. She also knew that she didn’t have very much fight left in her at that moment. Though her eyes were still closed, little, quick flashes of white and green speckled her vision. The spots would flash and dance in almost imperceptible quivers before disappearing completely.

Then there was the matter of the pain. Like a buzzing chainsaw had just passed through, a horrible ripping sensation raced from Tracy’s eyebrow, near her scar, all the way to the base of her skull, where it then pooled and radiated out through the rest of her body. It didn’t feel like a normal headache. At least, not like any headache that Tracy had ever experienced. In the end, she knew that she had to relinquish control, even if it was just a little.

Her neck muscles went slack as soon as the back of her head came to rest on a kitchen towel that Mr. Hayes had placed strategically over the back of the chair.

"Just relax. I’ve already had the room made up at home. It was supposed to be a surprise but," he rested the saucer of ice on the middle of her forehead, "this is just as good."

The shock of cold was a welcome relief. In minutes, she could feel the icy sensation sinking deeper and deeper into her flesh, relaxing the tight muscles that were causing all of her grief.

A steady trickle of cool, melted water dribbled down over her eyebrows and started to pool near the corners of her eyes.

"That’s so nice," she sighed and licked her lips.

Mr. Hayes circled her right temple with the shrinking piece of ice. Before long, he had to go back to the cup for another.

With the second piece, he started back up at her temple, though it didn’t stay there long. Over time his hand drifted lower, tracing the delicate lines of her jaw and the gentle outward thrust of her collar bone. Further still, Mr. Hayes pushed the ice on a downward slope across her chest. Again the water trickled down, quickly soaking through Tracy’s white tank top and bra.

"Mr. Hayes," she gasped. "I didn’t tell you…"

He leaned down over her, his chiseled nose brushing up against her chin, and kissed her. A moment later, he pulled back just far enough to speak.

"Don’t tell me anything for once."

His quick retort made Tracy feel flustered.

"I don’t…"

Mr. Hayes jammed the remaining chunk of ice down the front of her shirt and pressed it against her right nipple, causing Tracy to gasp. The mix of surprise and desire left her speechless.

Again he leaned in for a kiss, this time taking the time to thrust his tongue over hers in quick, hard caresses while he worked her breast with the ice. It was then that Tracy felt the last remaining threads of her migraine give way to pure, unadulterated lust. She needed him to take her right there, needed to let go of the control that she had worked so hard to build in her favor. Something about Mr. Hayes’ eagerness made her go limp in his arms.

Tracy pulled away from their kiss just long enough to groan, "Take me, Mr. Hayes."

The billionaire yanked his hand out of her top and flicked the melted water off of his fingers. Still behind her, he pushed both hands down below the waist of her designer denim shorts. He put his head beside hers. Tracy could hear his breathing. It was deep, heavy and slow, like an animal waiting to strike. Each hot breath rolled down over her shoulder, heating the cold skin on her chest back up.

The hot, prickling sensation made her bite the corner of her lip and moan.

Mr. Hayes’ roving fingers tip-toed beyond the precipice of her quivering mound. His nicely manicured nails barely grazed the curved tops of her neatly trimmed strip of pubic hair. From there he pushed onward, letting his middle finger slip down between her dripping wet folds.

Tracy slouched down in her seat just slightly and pushed her knees apart. The whole time, her eyes stayed clenched shut. Something about the way she felt right then, the way that every touch sent rippling waves of pleasure racing out through her tense body, made her reluctant to move another muscle.

As it turned out, she didn’t have to.

Mr. Hayes spread his fingers into a ‘v’ and pushed down in a smooth, rocking motion. The webbed spot where his fingers met would caress Tracy’s swollen clit with each stroke, though just barely. Even so, hard shudders of delight rocked the tired woman’s body in time with his movements. For several minutes Mr. Hayes stayed there, rubbing up and down with increasing speed.

"Yes," Tracy hissed through clenched teeth.

After a little longer, Mr. Hayes withdrew his hand and came around in front of her, poised between Tracy’s spread legs. He jerked her new jean shorts down, along with her delicate, lace panties. Tracy moved like she was going to close her knees, but Mr. Hayes pushed them back apart, even wider.

He fell to his knees and began to kiss and nibble softly on the inside of her right thigh. Working his way up at what felt to Tracy like an agonizingly slow pace, Mr. Hayes guided his skilled mouth upward to the delicate fold of flesh lying between Tracy’s quivering thigh and her slick, throbbing pussy.

She didn’t want to wait anymore, but before she could raise her head and demand release, Mr. Hayes’s hands spread her open and wrapped his lips around her bright pink nub.

"Oh fuck," she cried out, her voice echoing through the empty restaurant.

Mr. Hayes continued to suckle and slipped two fingers into her, pumping in and out with a rhythm that matched his pulsing sucks. Over time, Tracy could feel herself starting to fall over the edge. She buried her shaking hands under her now contorted tank top and bra, massaging her already erect nipples with tight pinches and twists.

Before she could come, Mr. Hayes pulled his mouth away from her. He knew her well enough to know when to pause for air. It was, however, only a brief interruption. Almost immediately he went back to work, this time using his tongue to rock back and forth over her aching clit. At the same time, he curled the two fingers inside of her upward and coaxed them forward, massaging Tracy’s most delicate spot.

Every pound and lick came together at just the right time, pushing Tracy into the first throes of her orgasm. She screamed out and ground her hips toward him, forcing his skilled tongue against her wet area. The racing waves of ecstasy spread out through her body, making her hands and feet tingle wildly.

When he was sure that she had finished completely, Mr. Hayes slipped his fingers out of her body and rested against her torso. He reached up, wrapped both hands around the back of her neck and pulled her head down so he could kiss her once more. Right away, Tracy’s own sweet taste melted between them.

"Come on," Mr. Hayes said after pulling away. "Let’s go home and get some rest."

Tracy knew that there was so much more work to be done, but she also knew damn well that no amount of coffee would be able to revive her from the deep sleep that she could feel coming.

She sighed, "Okay. Okay."

Mr. Hayes helped her stand up and slip her shorts back on, forgoing the panties all together. It was only a short car-ride home, and she could go commando that long. Once that was done, he took the keys out of her back pocket, lifted her up, and carried her out of the restaurant. On the way out, he locked the heavy deadbolt and stuffed the small key ring into a pocket in his slacks.

From there, it was only a few feet to his car.

No sooner than the door slammed shut did Tracy start to drift off. The plush leather beneath her, though cold on her naked thighs, was like a soft embrace that lulled away all of her stress. Every care and worry melted into the finely-stitched seat, along with whatever tenuous grasp on reality that Tracy still possessed.

She didn’t even hear Mr. Hayes slide into the driver’s seat next to her; didn’t even wince as the stabbing, white flash returned with a powerful vengeance.

* * *

Tracy felt dizzy, like the world had begun to spin faster on its axis. Everything around was a white blur that was streaked by a dizzying, swirling mix of blue and a deep, blood red. As if in her own little bubble, Tracy watched the dancing colors move around her in a perfect sphere, blocking out whatever lay on the other side.

She reached out apprehensively. Slowly, carefully, she extender her fingers toward it. She could feel an icy wind. Her hair began to whip around her head, blocking out her vision in quick flashes. All the while, she still couldn’t muster the courage to touch the sphere.

The Arctic wind blew even stronger. It forced her back a little and she wrapped her arms around the thin nightgown that covered her supple body.

"Paul?"

She never just called him Paul, but it seemed to make sense to her right then.

Though the fluttering chunks of her hair, Tracy saw a large hand break through the mist, which had by then formed into large, black clouds. On one knuckle, a tiny crescent scar caught her eye. Had he gotten hurt?

"Paul! I…"

The hand slapped down onto her arm and squeezed her so tightly that she could feel the tendons in her wrists crackling. Then, with a powerful jerk that made Tracy feel like the wind had been knocked out of her, it forced her up.

* * *

In the car, one of the many yellow street lights that dotted the street passed by overhead and illuminated the sleeping woman in a brief flash. Mr. Hayes looked into his rearview mirror and then turned his attention to Tracy. Her nightmares had been keeping both of them up at night.

"Paul," she muttered softly. The sound of her voice speaking his first name took him by surprise, but he remained silent.

Suddenly, Tracy gasped loudly and turned over in her reclined seat so that she was facing away from her concerned lover. Mr. Hayes reached a hand out and stroked her head softly as he turned his gaze back to the road.

"What is going on with you?"

* * *

The powerful hand jerked her back to her feet. In front of her stood a man who wasn’t Paul Hayes. Tracy had no idea who he was. The clouds and colors were long gone, leaving them in an open plane of icy white under a blue sky.

The man’s deep brown, almost black eyes pierced into Tracy’s thoughts. He was a short man, but wrapped in muscle. He had black, buzz-cut hair and his jaw was locked tight, working the muscles in his face.

The two of them stood there for a while, just staring, before the man sprang toward her like a lion. In seconds, he had forced her to the ground and pinned her down. Tracy’s already short night dress flipped up, exposing a pair of lacy, red panties.

Underneath her body, which began to throb wildly from the surge of adrenaline, the ground felt like one giant slab of ice. It sent a violent chill racing through her spine and made her previously soft nipples stand out immediately.

"Who are you?" she tried to yell and bucked her body against the man. "Get off of me!"

The man grabbed each of her wrists again, just as hard as the first time, and slammed them down onto the frozen ground. The force was enough to make her breasts bounce up and down, exposing the very edge of one of her pink nipples.

Tracy tried to scream for Paul. She could feel her mouth moving, could feel the straining vibrations making her vocal chords spasm, but there was no sound except for the constant whooshing of the cold wind racing over them. She tried again to push his body away, this time using her feet to try and kick him off of her.

The man growled – she could see it in the way that he gritted his yellowed, crooked teeth, even though his voice was as silent here as her own – and pushed her down again. He was like quicksand: the more that she fought, the closer the two became.

Finally, after a struggle that felt like it lasted hours, the man sank down between Tracy’s thighs. Leading the way, his massive erection bulged out against his smooth, black slacks. The huge lump settled against Tracy’s pussy, resting there like an anaconda ready to attack.

The man’s eyes flashed with red, and he leaned in so that their cheeks were nearly touching. His lips, a rough as sandpaper, grazed her lips as he spoke on mute. His hips began to grind down onto her, rocking his member against her tender area.

He had taken control of her.

Tracy squeezed her eyes shut. The man let go of her wrists and cupped one of her full breasts in one hand. While his thrusts continued, his other hand started to trace a line from the top of her head. With one finger, he dragged across her forehead, over the scar that had been left from her accident, and continued on along the top of her eyebrow. From there, he slipped the single digit over her cheek, coming to rest just below the right side of her chin.

The man pressed his finger into the sensitive patch of flesh. Then it went cold, just as cold as the ground beneath them, which had begun to melt from their collective body heat.

The wind stopped abruptly. Now there was no sound at all. No heavy breaths or beating hearts. No hint of Tracy’s protests or the words that the man was still reciting into her ear. Instead, the only thing that broke through the silence was an unmistakable sound: a gun being cocked.

Tracy didn’t have to look, but she did anyway. The man’s icy finger had transformed into a gun and was neatly pressed against the bottom of her jaw. The cool, silver steel that wrapped the body shone like the sun, making Tracy’s eyes water uncontrollably.

Now giving off a glow so bright that it started to melt everything around, the gun started to vibrate against Tracy’s shivering flesh. It was only seconds before it took over everything. The man melted away, as did the freezing ground and baby blue skies.

The last thing that Tracy saw was the gun’s handle. It had been painted a deep, purple-tinged hue of crimson. In her head, the man’s solemn, monotone voice finally burst through the ether.

"I’ll have his blood."

* * *

Tracy awoke with a start as the car pulled into the driveway. She was still so tired, and felt like she hadn't had any rest in days. Was what she just saw someone's dreams? Or was it just a bad dream of hers produced by stress? It was all so confusing, and she almost didn't want to go to sleep again. However, as she crawled into bed with Mr. Hayes, sleep claimed her almost immediately.